


Make My Messes Matter

by Agapostemon



Series: The Sound of Shattered Glass [7]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 5+1 Things, Bed-Wetting, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Sex, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Grey-Asexual Shiro, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Matt Holt POV, Matt Holt has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Matt's UTI from Hell, Pee, Recovery, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, There's a lot going on here okay, Trans Matt Holt, Trans Shiro (Voltron), Trauma, Whump, galra prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2018-12-30 10:18:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12106560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agapostemon/pseuds/Agapostemon
Summary: When he wakes up, all he knows is he needs to pee. It’s a burning sensation so intense that it pulls everything else out of focus. It’s like his bladder is grabbing hold of every other sensation in his body and pulling it towards itself, like some kind of bladder-centric black hole of pain.[5 times Matt made a mess and 1 time Shiro did]





	1. Try and Twist the Knife

**Author's Note:**

> AKA "The Weird Pee Fic ~~Nobody~~ One Whole Person Asked For"
> 
>  
> 
>  **Some content warnings before you proceed:** A LOT of pee (in both kink and definitely-not-kink contexts), graphic physical and medical abuse, briefly referenced sexual abuse, vomit, explicit (consensual) sex and kink, a lot of trauma and related mental health troubles, brief mentions of gender dysphoria
> 
> **If you're hoping to avoid graphic violence/abuse, skip chapters 1-3 (chapters 4-6 should make sense without reading the first three).  
> **If you're hoping to avoid explicit sex/kink, skip chapters 5-6 (chapter 4 ends on a cute note that'll give you some closure).
> 
> ALSO, this fic can stand alone, but it's even better if you read the [companion fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12057087) first!

_Take care of your father._

The words run through Matt’s head like a mantra he can’t quite make sense of. He’s mulled them over so many times that they’ve started to lose their meaning, blurring together with gut-wrenching pain to create a slurry of nausea and mental fog.

How long has he been strapped to this table? It’s hard to tell. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t been completely conscious the whole time. It’s hard to stay conscious with aliens poking around the inside of your knee. He thinks maybe they could use a lesson in anesthesiology.

Or maybe just a lesson in _ethics_.

Another jolt of pain shoots up from his leg, dulled by the fact that his body has ceased to feel real. He’s tempted to look down and see what they’re up to, but he knows that’s a bad idea. That would make it real.

It’s a bad idea.

He knows it’s a bad idea.

But he does it anyways, because curiosity runs wild in the Holt family. ( _Take care of your father_.)

He hardly has the chance to process what he sees before his head starts to swim and bile rises in his throat. _Bone. Metal._ His vision blurs, and suddenly all he can feel is nausea.

 _Please don’t throw up_ , he wills himself, swallowing back bitter liquid before it can escape his throat. _Please please please_.

Darkness prickles at the corners of his vision until reality fades away again.

***

When he wakes up, all he knows is he needs to _pee_. It’s a burning sensation so intense that it pulls everything else out of focus. It’s like his bladder is grabbing hold of every other sensation in his body and pulling it towards itself, like some kind of bladder-centric black hole of pain.

He hazily notes that the Galra are done with… whatever they were doing with his knee. Fixing it? It doesn’t feel very fixed. If anything, it feels worse than it did before they “fixed” it. But that’s not his main concern at the moment. His main concern is that he’s still strapped spread-eagle and naked to a cold metal table while his captors congregate around a computer monitor several feet away.

And he needs to pee.

He _really_ needs to pee. And there’s only so much he can do to hold it in when he can’t even clamp his thighs together. Panic washes over him. What would happen if he called out to the Galra and asked them to untie him? They have translators. He could explain. But how likely are they to listen? How likely are they to punish him for acting out? And… shit. His knee. Can he even stand right now? Shit shit _shit_.

There’s no way out of this, is there?

Tears well in his eyes as panic fades into hopelessness. He feels exposed. His dysphoria has never been bad—never haunted him the way Shiro’s seems to—but in this moment every inch of him feels _wrong_.

He squeezes his eyes shut and buries his face in his shoulder before letting go. Relief blends with shame blends with pain as warm liquid trickles out of him, pattering onto the metal table below. He’s dehydrated, still, so there isn’t much. But there’s enough to pool beneath him uncomfortably and draw the Galra back over to investigate the sound and smell.

He keeps his eyes screwed shut as they inspect him. Clean him. Touch him in places they have _no business_ touching. He tries not to think about the unwanted arousal gnawing at his gut. He wills himself to stop being real again.

 _Take care of your father_.

How can he do that if he can’t even take care of himself?


	2. I Don't Even Know the Name

Pain burrows its way into Matt’s pelvis and makes itself at home there soon after he’s transferred to the mining colony. He figures it’s just menstrual cramps. After all, there aren’t exactly testosterone injections in alien prison.

But his period comes and goes, and the ache only increases, bringing with it a host of other problems. Like the constant need to pee. And the agonizing burn when he tries to actually do so. (Emphasis on tries, since half the time nothing even comes out.)

He’s never had a UTI before, but it doesn’t take a neurosurgeon to figure out that’s what’s going on. Especially once blood starts showing up in his pee. Which he hopes doesn’t mean he’s dying, but… honestly, who knows anymore? Not Matt, that’s for sure.

This is the sort of thing he would talk to Shiro about. Shiro would understand. Shiro would gripe with him about bad bodies and shitty living conditions. But Shiro isn’t here. Shiro is…

Not dead, he tells himself. Not dead. He can’t be dead.

(Please, God. Don’t let him be dead.)

And Dad isn’t here, either. Matt’s not sure where he is. Some other work camp, probably. Lightyears away. Alive, he hopes. He prays. Matt’s never been much for praying, but honestly… who else is he supposed to talk to here? The other prisoners who hate him because he got a tech job instead of manual labor? The Galra guards who can’t decide if they’d rather kick him around or fuck him during their off hours?

So he talks to a god he’s at least 70% sure exists and at least 50% sure is listening. He speaks in English, because fuck if he can remember the Hebrew. Or… the words at all, for that matter. Maybe if he was his sister he’d remember.

God, he misses Katie. He bets he could talk to _her_ about this dumb UTI. She loves talking about gross stuff like that.

Before long, praying turns to quiet crying and, mercifully, crying turns to sleep.

...and sleep turns to scrambling awake in a mad dash to get to the pit toilet in the corner, only to land on his bad knee and crumple back onto the floor, writhing in pain and soaked in his own piss.

He gulps in air, trying desperately to bite back tears. _Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry_. The other prisoners all hate him plenty as it is. He doesn’t need to exacerbate the problem by waking them all in the middle of the night.

Fuck. These are the only clothes he has. The realization seeps in, suffocating him with dread. A sob catches in his throat and he clamps his hands over his mouth to shut himself up. _Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry_.

It’s not much use. Another sob escapes through his fingers, and before he knows it he’s full-on wailing on the dirty floor. His hands remain stubbornly clamped over his mouth in a futile attempt at muffling the sound. Spit oozes between his fingers as he gags on his own tears.

Everyone can hear him. He knows they can. There’s no way anyone with ears could sleep through this. But not one of them responds. No whispered reassurances. No comforting limbs slipped through cage bars. It’s like they all telepathically agreed to fake sleeping through his breakdown. The sheer loneliness of it all just adds fuel to his dismay.

Eventually he cries himself out. He’s not sure how long it takes—at least an hour, he thinks—but eventually every muscle in his body aches too much to cry any more. He’s just tired. Tired and lonely and sick and gross.

He takes a watery breath and listlessly pulls himself up off the cold metal ground. He peels off his soiled jumpsuit and hangs it up, somehow still managing to feel self-conscious about his naked body even though everyone here has seen it at least a dozen times.

If he’s lucky, the Galra will give him fresh clothes in the morning. And if not… well, at least his current outfit will have a few hours to dry and air out before he has to put it on again. Maybe he won’t smell _too_ bad. Maybe he can avoid aggravating the UTI from Hell and its maddening yeast infection friend.

He sighs and curls up under the fabric scrap he calls a blanket. Maybe no one will beat the shit out of him for this in the morning.


	3. Sleepwalk Through My Days

Matt can’t stop shivering, but it feels like he’s breathing fire. He’s not sure how long he’s felt like this. Time passes in a feverish haze. What was he doing, again?

Right. Fixing this control panel. His fingers feel heavy as he clumsily twists together wires. He lets his mind drift, imagining homemade soup and a heating pad on his aching back. He wonders, not for the first time, if this is how he’s going to die. It seems like a miserable way to go—all alone in alien captivity, infection slowly overtaking his body. But he doesn’t even have the energy to be sad about it at the moment.

He doesn’t realize he’s dozed off until he’s awoken by a clawed hand dragging him upright, almost ripping his shoulder out of its socket in the process. Reality is moving too fast and too slow all at once, and he can’t quite make out what the warden is yelling. Something about productivity.

He’s too groggy to brace himself when the Galra smashes him against the wall, so his head collides with a sickening crack that leaves his ears ringing and his vision blurry.

Maybe they’ll just kill him now. Snap his neck, put him out of his misery. He doesn’t want to die. Not really. But if he has to, he’d rather it be quick.

He flinches as the warden screams in his face, spit splattering his cheeks and claws ripping into his shoulders. White hot pain sears through his pelvis as his captor’s knee presses against his bladder. He bites back the urge to scream, but the look on his face belies how much it hurts.

With a sadistic smirk, the Galra digs their knee in harder.

Matt’s entire body feels like it’s on fire with pain and embarrassment as a small trickle of pee escapes, soaking into the fabric of his jumpsuit. _It burns, it burns, it burns_. This time he does scream.

Apparently satisfied, the warden lets him drop to the floor and gives his ribs one last kick for good measure before strolling out.

Matt’s head whirls. He feels like he’s on a roller coaster even though he’s not moving. He urges himself to stand, afraid he’ll be punished again if he doesn’t, but he can’t seem to process which direction is up.

When he does manage to pull himself upright using the edge of the control panel, his vision instantly starts to swim. His brain feels like it’s sloshing around inside his skull, splashing unpleasantly behind his eyes. Saliva fills his mouth faster than he can swallow it.

_No no no_.

He retches, emptying what little is in his stomach onto the floor.

_Crap_. He sits back down and buries his face in his hands.

Just what he needed right now. A fucking concussion.


	4. Stitching Up the Loose Threads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A cute sibling-themed intermission between the angst and the smut. I mean, there's still plenty of angst here. But it's more hurt/comfort flavored angst, as opposed to just.... abject sadness like the first three chapters.
> 
> (Also, reminder that this is the End Chapter if you don't wanna read sex scenes.)

The castle is still dark when Matt thrashes awake at Butts O’Clock in the Fake Space Morning. He can’t even remember what he was dreaming about. A bad memory, he’s sure. Whatever it was, it left him sweating and gasping for air. And…

Wet.

More than just sweaty. His underwear is soaked, as are the sheets beneath him.

He can feel the blood drain from his face. He knows he’s in the castle. He’s safe. There are clean clothes in the closet and a shower just a door away. Pidge and Shiro are right down the hall. But it feels like there’s a glitch in reality. Like he’s being torn between two times and places. Like he has one foot in a prison cell, all alone. One leg in a piss-soaked jumpsuit with nothing clean to change into.

_Shut up, brain_.

He chokes back tears and resists the urge to rip out his hair.

_Shut up, brain. Shut up. None of that is true anymore_.

He taps a chewed fingernail against the metal wall beside him, a steady rhythm to drown out the Wrong Reality playing over and over in his head. When that doesn’t quite work, he starts clicking his tongue along to the rhythm.

It works for a moment, but eventually the Wrong Reality surges forward and takes hold of his brain again.

“Stop!” he shouts out loud, clutching at his head and curling in on himself until his forehead rests in his lap.

It smells like pee.

“STOP!” he yells again, flinging away the soiled covers and leaping out of bed. He gives the side of the bed a solid kick before crumpling onto the ground in tears.

He still smells like pee.

He doesn’t have the energy to argue with his brain anymore, so he gives in and lets the Wrong Reality swirl around him for a while. He’s not sure how long.

It fades, eventually. Slowly but surely, the glitch in reality sews itself shut, leaving Matt spent and defeated on the floor. The faint beginning of a headache gnaws at his temple.

He sighs and pulls himself up off the ground, peeling off his damp boxer briefs and tossing them on the bed before dragging his tired body into the bathroom. He draws up a bath—he’s too tired to shower, and there’s something soothing about being submerged in warm water. He’s pretty sure he dozes off in the tub, because one moment it’s practically scalding and the next it’s lukewarm at best.

He hurries to scrub himself in the room temperature water, then hops out and grabs a towel. He doesn’t have the energy to dry himself properly, so he just curls up on the bath matt and lets himself air dry, using the towel as a blanket.

It makes a better blanket than some actual so-called blankets he’s used.

He banishes that thought before it has a chance to take hold.

He decides to half-hum, half-sing to himself to keep his mind firmly planted in the here and now.

_“Motion, direction, acceleration_

_Motion, direction, acceleration_

_I’ve got speed (hm hm hm-hmhm-hmhm)_

_I’ve got velocity (hm hm hm-hm-hmhmhm)”_

It’s a song he used to harass Shiro with nigh constantly on the flight to Kerberos. Singing it still brings a smile to his lips. He makes a mental note to sing it to him again the next time he gets the chance.

Part of him wants to show up at Shiro’s room now. Pester him with a silly song. Curl up in his bed with him and deal with his own gross laundry in the morning.

But Shiro needs his sleep. He has more on his plate than Matt does.

Matt sighs, sitting up and patting himself the rest of the way dry. Time to do some laundry, he supposes. He reluctantly stands and makes his way back into the bedroom, where he puts on some clean pajamas.

He pauses when he catches sight of himself in the mirror, then grumbles and pulls his pajama top back off to put on a sports bra. It’s one of _those_ nights, apparently.

With that taken care of, he sets to work stripping the sheets off his bed and bundling them up to carry to… wherever the fuck the laundry room in this place is. He knows it exists, but he didn’t quite retain that information from Coran’s whirlwind tour of the castle. He mutters to himself and sets off in search of his elusive destination.

***

He finds the laundry room in under an hour, and he doesn’t have a single meltdown in the hallway on the way there. Double victory. Woo hoo.

He shoves his laundry in what he assumes to be a washing machine, then turns the light on to look for some detergent.

_Too bright_.

The cyan light feels like it’s pressing against his eyes, drilling into his sinuses. His left temple throbs in protest. Another one of _these_ headaches. Ugh. The last one lasted for _days_.

He presses a hand over his aching left eye and throws open the nearest cupboard with his free hand, squinting at its contents with one eye and no glasses.

Great. Everything is in fucking _Altean_.

And none of it looks even _remotely_ like laundry detergent. A wave of disproportionate _fury_ washes over him and he slams the cabinet shut, so loud that it startles him. Which only serves to enrage him further. He bites back the urge to punch the damn cabinet. Forces himself to stand and breathe, clenching his free hand into a fist and digging the ragged nails of his left hand into his brow.

By the time he settles down, the ache in his head has spread to his jaw and ear, leaving him vaguely nauseous. But he’s calm now, he tells himself. Everything is fine. He just needs to stay calm and find the stupid detergent.

The rest of the cupboards are too high for him, so he climbs atop the row of oversized washers and dryers to reach them. The first two cabinets yield nothing of interest—one is entirely empty, and the other contains a pile of mysterious electronics that would have fascinated Matt on any other night. The third cabinet, however, holds an entire array of what Matt assumes to be cleaning chemicals.

All labelled in Altean.

Of course.

Matt takes a few measured breaths, forcing himself to stay calm, and picks up the first bottle he can reach. He inspects it, looking for some kind of pictogram or _something_ that might hint at the product’s use. Nothing. He sighs and unscrews the lid, taking a whiff of its contents.

He gags and hurriedly replaces the lid, his head pounding even worse than it had before.

Either that’s not laundry detergent or it’s no laundry detergent _he_ wants to use. He grumbles and moves onto the next mystery item. And the next. And the next. He sorts them into piles: “maybe laundry detergent” and “definitely not laundry detergent.” It’s methodical. Almost soothing.

Until he hits his head on the cabinet door about two thirds of the way through sorting its contents.

He hisses in pain and smacks the door away with his fist, pounding on it a few times for good measure (doing more damage to his fist than the door). Then, still seething with rage, he screams and grabs the nearest box, digging his fingers into it and _ripping_. A pleasant-smelling and hopefully-innocuous powder explodes all over his lap and his surroundings. He wails at the top of his lungs and swipes several containers onto the ground.

Then, energy spent, he lays down and cries.

His misery is interrupted several minutes later by a familiar voice in the doorway, “Matty?”

Pidge? He wants to respond, but he can’t quite find his voice.

“Uh, why are you covered in laundry soap and crying on top of a washing machine?” she asks, a thin veil of sarcasm covering her clear concern.

Matt blinks. Laundry soap? He takes a deep breath, then groans, “Fucking _really?_ ”

Pidge steps closer and tilts her head, “Uh… yeah?”

“Seriously?” Matt grumbles, “This? _This_ is laundry soap?”

“Yes, Matt, this is laundry soap,” Pidge deadpans, scooping some up with her finger and sniffing at it to confirm.

Matt just sighs and sits up, doing his best to brush the detergent off his face and out of his hair.

“You okay?” Pidge asks, worry returning to her face.

“Uh…” Matt hesitates, then shrugs, “Not really.”

Pidge responds by clambering up onto the washing machine next to him and snuggling up against his side, heedless of the spilled detergent.

“Thanks,” he hiccups quietly, wrapping an arm around his sister’s shoulders and resting his cheek on top of her head.

After a few minutes, Pidge pipes up, “So uh, you never actually answered my question. Why are you in the laundry room at 4am, crying and covered in detergent?”

He sniffles and wipes at his dripping nose (immediately regretting his decision as soap powder burns his nostril), then forces a laugh that hurts his head, “Uh… just doin’ some laundry. Y’know. The old-fashioned way. Where you explode detergent-you-didn’t-know-was-detergent all over the room and then use tears and snot to hydrate it.”

“Ew,” Pidge giggles, “You’re gross.”

Matt laughs again, more genuine this time, “I mean… yeah.”

“Why were you doing laundry at 4am to begin with?” Pidge inquires.

“Because I’m gross,” Matt retorts, “I thought we just established that.”

“No, we established that you’re doing laundry at 4am _and_ you’re gross,” Pidge corrects, “The _because_ is new.”

“Fair,” Matt concedes.

“So, what gross thing did you do that required you to do laundry at Butts O’Clock in the Fake Space Morning?” Pidge asks.

Matt hesitates for a moment, then shrugs, “I wet the bed.”

“Gross,” Pidge sticks her tongue out.

“Yep,” Matt agrees.

Pidge tugs him closer and pats his knee with her free hand, “It’s okay. Nightmare, right? Happens to the best of us.”

He manages a small smile and ruffles his sister’s hair, “Thanks Pidgey.”

“So uh… was the soap-splosion planned, or…?” Pidge teases.

He gives her shoulder a playful shove, “What d’you think?”

“Meltdown?” she asks, gentle but matter-of-fact.

“Meltdown,” Matt nods.

Pidge stays with him for a minute longer, rocking side to side with her arm around him. Then, without warning, she presses a quick kiss to his temple and hops off the washer.

Matt winces as she hits the ground, “Ouch. D’you have knees of steel or something?”

“Uh, no. That’s you,” Pidge retorts, digging through the assorted cleaning products scattered across the floor.

He rubs at his bad knee, “I mean… technically I only have _one_ knee of steel. To be fair.”

Pidge rolls her eyes and keeps searching. Eventually, she finds what she’s looking for and holds it victoriously above her head. It’s a small jug. “Liquid detergent!” she announces.

Matt raises an eyebrow, “How the hell did you know which one was detergent?”

She shrugs, “Helped Coran fix a dryer once. Got roped into laundry duty for the rest of eternity.”

“Rough,” Matt responds.

“Which washer is yours? I’ll start your laundry for you,” Pidge offers.

“First one,” he points, “You’re a hero.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Pidge responds as she sets to work getting the washer ready. Finally, she presses the start button and wanders back over to Matt, “You look dead on your feet. Well… on your butt, I guess, since you’re sitting. Go get some sleep, idiot.”

“Uh, hate to break it to you, but most of my bedding is kind of in that washer over there,” Matt points out.

“So?” says Pidge, “Why don’t you go crash with your boooy-friend?”

Matt’s face flushes, “I can’t—uh—he’s probably… wait, how did you even know Shiro and I are…?”

Pidge gives him a sly look, “I know things.”

“What did you even hack to get this information?” Matt sputters, “We’ve been dating like… less than a week.”

She shrugs, “Actually, Hunk told me. I think Allura told him. I’m assuming the mice told her.”

Right. The mice. Apparently secrets don’t exist on the castle ship.

“Anyways,” Pidge continues, “There’s like a 97.3% chance he’s already awake, so it’s not like you’ll be interrupting his sleep. If anything, you’ll lure him back _into_ bed with, I dunno… _snuggles_ or whatever.”

Matt considers this, then shrugs, “Okay, that’s sound reasoning.”

“C’mon, I’ll walk you to his room,” Pidge offers her brother a hand so he can get down with minimal damage to his knee.

“Hey, I know my way around!” he defends, taking her hand and gingerly lowering himself to the ground. His knee is spared, but the impact still manages to jar his aching head enough for him to wince.

Pidge snorts, “That’s a lie and you know it.”

“…fine,” he concedes, brushing detergent powder from the front of his pajamas, “But on the way you have to explain to me why _you’re_ up at Butts O’Clock in the Fake Space Morning.”

“Oh, you know,” she says, grabbing his hand and swinging their arms together, “The usual. Time is immaterial, sleep is for the weak, etcetera etcetera… you got some detergent on your butt, by the way.”

He sticks his tongue out at his sister and brushes his butt off, then squeezes her hand and lets her lead him to Shiro’s room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Matt's singing/humming is [Speed and Velocity](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DRb5PSxJerM) by TMBG, in case anyone was wondering


	5. And I Know That We Need This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't already read [Deep in a Corner of the Night](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12057087), I highly recommend doing so before this chapter in particular. You don't absolutely have to, but it'll definitely add some context.
> 
> (Also, this is the point in the fic where the "eventual sex" tag comes into play and the "eventual fluff" tag hits full force.)

“Matt! Oh my god, that tickles!” Shiro gasps with laughter, squirming as his boyfriend peppers his ribs with kisses.

“That okay?” Matt pauses, awaiting permission.

“Yeah, but…” Shiro smirks and rolls them both over so Matt is flat on his back beneath him, “Turnabout is fair play. May I?” His fingers hover millimeters above his partner’s equally-ticklish ribs.

“How dare you!” Matt shrieks gleefully, giving a quick nod of consent for the tickle battle to continue. Shiro attacks viciously, turning Matt into a flailing, giggling mess.

Until suddenly he’s not.

Suddenly he’s scrambling away, wide-eyed and flushed, because he needs to _pee_. He needs to pee, and the worst part is… he almost _wants_ Shiro to watch? For a split second he imagines himself asking permission. Imagines Shiro holding him and kissing him and _watching_ him while it happens, right there on the bed.

No no _no_. He doesn’t want that. Why would he want that?

“What’s wrong?” Shiro sits back, frowning.

“Nothing!” Matt responds, “Time to, uh… bathroom!” And with that, he disappears off to go pee. In private. Like a normal and reasonable person.

***

When Matt returns, Shiro still looks concerned. “You okay, buddy? You looked like you… did I…?” his voice is tinged with guilt.

_Crap_. Matt’s not sure he knows how to navigate this conversation. “You didn’t, uh… trigger anything,” he says cautiously.

“Okay. That’s good,” Shiro says, though he doesn’t look particularly reassured.

Awkward silence settles over them. Matt fidgets with the hem of his shirt as he ponders what to say next and how much he wants to share. He’s pretty sure this is something he wants to talk about, but… how?

After a moment of thought, Matt opts for winging it.

“I’m just, uh…” he begins before realizing he has no idea what to say next.

Shiro cocks his head to the side and makes a curious noise.

“Uhhh…” Matt can feel heat rising in his face as his pulse speeds up.

Shiro waits patiently.

“Um,” Matt gulps for air, “Um, okay, so… remember a few weeks back, when you uh…” he waves a hand, hoping Shiro will finish his sentence for him.

Shiro blinks, “When I…?”

“Y’know,” Matt waves his hand more insistently.

“I don’t… actually know, Matt,” Shiro responds, “You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“It has to do with peeing!” Matt blurts out.

Well, at least now Matt isn’t the only one who’s as red as a tomato.

“…oh,” Shiro says, so quiet that Matt almost can’t hear him over the sound of his own pulse pounding in his ears, “Um, when I wet the bed?”

“Yeah,” Matt replies softly.

“What about it?” Shiro asks, averting his eyes.

Crap. This is exactly what Matt _didn’t_ want. Why did he decide to bring it up like _that_?

“No no no,” Matt scrambles to right his wrong, “I don’t mean… it’s not about that, exactly? It’s uh… I mean… remember the thing I said? Afterwards?”

Shiro looks up at him out of the corner of his eye, then whispers, “Which thing?”

Matt wasn’t sure his heart could beat any faster than it already was, but it continues to prove him wrong. “Y’know, uh… UTI from Hell? Getting real cozy with pee in Galra prison? That… kinda stuff. Is this… ringing any bells?”

“Oh,” Shiro visibly relaxes, “Um, yeah. I remember that. Why?”

Matt fidgets harder, “I uh… d’you ever… um, never mind.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Shiro places a reassuring hand on his partner’s knee, “You don’t have to tell me anything, but I’m listening if you want to. And I uh… won’t call you gross. I promise.”

Matt laughs bitterly, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Kashi.”

“I _promise_ ,” Shiro reiterates, “Matt, a lot of fucked up stuff happened to us. Whatever you’re feeling, I’m sure I’ve felt something just as weird.”

Matt ponders this for a moment, then speaks quietly, “Okay. Um, so a lot of people uh… saw me pee? While I was with the Galra?”

Shiro nods.

“And it was… weird and bad and gross,” Matt shudders at the thought, “But uh, d’you ever… I mean, uh. Sometimes I think about what it would be like if it was… on purpose? Like, if I invited…” his voice starts to trail off, “y’know, someone to…” he waves his hand, “…watch…”

It takes Shiro so long to respond that Matt starts to worry he’s upset. When he finally speaks, his voice is infinitesimally small, “Yeah, I… think about that too…”

“Oh!” Matt’s eyes widen.

Shiro ducks his head bashfully.

“We, um… you um… we both…” Matt babbles.

Shiro’s face flushes an even deeper red than it already was.

“D’you wanna, uh…” Matt stammers, “I mean, we don’t have to, but… I dunno. This is awkward, never mind.”

There’s another moment of silence, then Shiro speaks softly, “I’d like to, yeah.”

Wait. What?

Matt fumbles for words, “You…”

“We can try. Um… I’m interested, too.”

“Really?” Matt blinks.

Shiro nods, a tentative smile flickering across his face.

The inside of Matt’s head buzzes. He takes a deep breath and flops over into his boyfriend’s lap. Shiro’s fingers dance across his back. Neither of them speaks for what seems like an eternity.

Finally, Matt breaks the silence by mumbling into Shiro’s thigh, “So uh… logistics?”

Shiro hums in agreement, still running his fingers up and down Matt’s back.

“For the uh… pee thing. Who is… y’know. Who’s, uh… doing what? And uh… when, where, how…” Matt rambles, “I mean, if we even do the thing.”

Shiro is quiet for another moment, then, “What would _you_ like?”

Matt _melts_. Something about the way Shiro says it sends an electric pulse right through his gut. He takes a deep breath, “Um…” he bursts into nervous giggles for a moment, then composes himself and asks, “Can I pee for you, please?”

Shiro smiles softly and brushes his boyfriend’s bangs out of his face before leaning in for a kiss, “Of course you can.”

 

*****

 

It takes almost a week before they have a chance to act on their idea. Diplomatic meetings, rigorous training schedules, and skirmishes at Galra outposts keep everyone busy. And frankly… Matt is too shy to bring the topic back up. He wonders if Shiro is feeling shy, too, or if he’s just not ready yet.

When it finally does come up, it’s so subtle and casual that Matt almost wonders if it’s real.

Shiro catches him after breakfast and pulls him into a slightly-more-intimate-than-the-occasion-calls-for kiss (not that Matt’s complaining). Then, blushing and averting his eyes, he whispers, “Short day, today. Just a quick training session before lunch.”

Matt holds his breath, wondering if this is going in the direction he’s hoping its going in. He urges himself not to get his hopes up and make things awkward. “Assuming we don’t get attacked,” he quips.

Shiro laughs, “Yeah. Assuming that. But… we should be fine. Pidge’s latest stealth upgrades seem to be throwing them off, for now.”

“True…” Matt says. The word hangs awkwardly in the air for a moment.

But Shiro quickly picks the reins back up, “So, do you wanna try…”

“The thing we talked about before?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“Yep.”

Matt’s stomach flutters, “So should I, uh… not…”

“Please don’t hold it all day,” Shiro instructs gently, “I’m not an expert, but that seems… not healthy. How about uh… you like those weird energy drinks Hunk makes, right?”

“Oh!” a grin spreads across Matt’s face, “That’s a great idea! Yeah, I’ll drink one of those with lunch. And some water, maybe? Then we can, uh…”

“Good plan,” Shiro nods and brushes his fingers across Matt’s cheek, “I… gotta go wrangle the kids for some training, now. Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I will,” Matt stands on tip-toes and plants a kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek, “Love you, Kashi.”

“I love you, too,” Shiro responds with a soft kiss to Matt’s lips before ruffling his hair and strolling off to find the other paladins.

As soon as Shiro is out of sight, a hundred different emotions crash down on Matt, settling in his gut and buzzing in his groin. He’s _terrified_ and he _can’t wait_.

Welp.

This is gonna be a long morning.

***

They retreat to Shiro’s room after lunch, where Matt flops down against his partner’s chest in nothing but a t-shirt and boxer briefs.

“Let me know when you’re ready,” Shiro murmurs, kissing the top of Matt’s head and gently massaging his belly.

“M’kay,” Matt hums, closing his eyes and trying to enjoy the affection and growing need to pee without panicking about what comes next.

Shiro buries his face in Matt’s hair and presses his mech hand against his sternum in a way that makes him squirm.

So much for pretending he’s not turned on by this.

He arches his back and whimpers, “Touch?”

“Touch… where?” Shiro asks.

“Uh…” Matt squirms again, “Anywhere?”

Shiro chuckles and pokes his nose, “There, I touched you.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Matt whines.

“Well then, I guess you’ll just have to be more specific,” Shiro retorts with an innocent shrug.

Matt pouts, “Okay, okay, uh… can I…” he grabs his boyfriend’s left hand and tugs gently.

Shiro nods, and Matt guides his hand to the front of his boxer briefs.

Shiro kisses the side of Matt’s head and gently explores with his fingers, the heel of his hand pressing lightly against his bladder as he does so, “This what you wanted?”

Matt lets out a hum of appreciation, raising his hips to grind against his partner’s hand.

“D’you… wanna move to the bathroom, now, so we don’t get interrupted when, uh…” Shiro asks, voice trailing off bashfully.

Matt thinks for a second. The bed is comfy, but Shiro has a point—this isn’t really something he wants to be interrupted in the middle of. So he nods, “Yeah, probably a good idea.”

“Alright, up up,” Shiro nudges him upright, then removes his prosthetic and strips down to his own underwear before herding Matt towards the en suite bathroom.

Matt pauses to tug off his damp boxer briefs before hopping in the tub with his boyfriend.

“So how do we wanna, uh…” Shiro looks around apprehensively.

“I wanna kneel,” Matt declares, already getting into position. His bad knee complains the moment it hits the hard ground, but his arousal mostly drowns out the discomfort.

“Okay,” Shiro follows suit, kneeling behind his boyfriend and resting what’s left of his right forearm on his hip while his left hand gently presses against his belly.

_Oh_.

The need to pee is a lot more obvious in this position, and it mingles with his arousal in a way that completely drowns out most of his inhibitions.

“Please please please touch me,” he whines.

Shiro obliges, running his fingers between Matt’s labia to slick them before swirling them around the erect nub of his cock. “Just let me know when you’re ready.” He punctuates the statement with a shower of fluttery kisses.

“Mhm,” Matt whimpers. He’s close already, honestly. An electric current runs between his cock and his bladder. He holds his breath for a moment, focusing on the sensation. Focusing on how much he wants Shiro to see him. Focusing on how nice it is to be in _control_ of the situation.

The electric feeling intensifies.

“Okay, I gotta pee,” he announces, his voice coming out quieter than he meant it to.

“Okay,” Shiro whispers, kissing his neck, “Want me to keep, uh… doing this?”

Matt nods.

“Alright,” Shiro gives his bladder a tiny press with the heel of his hand, “Go ahead.”

The pee comes in halting spurts at first, pausing every time a wave of self-consciousness hits him, but eventually he relaxes enough for the rest to come out as a continuous stream. Shiro’s feathery kisses and whispered reassurances fill his insides with butterflies.

He comes almost as soon as he’s done, arching and twitching and whimpering before flopping back against Shiro.

“You all done?” Shiro asks, nuzzling his cheek and pulling his hand away.

Matt nods.

“How’re you feeling?” Shiro makes a mostly-futile effort to wipe his hand off on his boxers before resting it on Matt’s hip.

Matt thinks, “Uh… good. Sleepy? A little embarrassed, but not like… the bad kind? Uh… cozy. Mostly cozy.”

“Mm, good. I’m glad,” Shiro hums.

“Oh, and my knee hurts like _hell_ ,” Matt adds, “Next time, we’re getting one of those plastic sheet things so we can do this on a nice, comfy bed.”

“Next time?” Shiro raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Matt reaches up to run his fingers through Shiro’s hair, “If you want there to be a next time. It’s okay if you don’t.”

Shiro hums again, then smiles coyly, “Can it be my turn, next time?”

A grin spreads across Matt’s face as he twists his neck to kiss Shiro’s cheek, “Of course it can, my beautiful boy.”

Shiro blushes and ducks his head.

“But for now, uh… shower time?” Matt says.

“ _Definitely_ shower time,” Shiro agrees, glancing down at his still-slimy hand.

Neither of them moves.

“…in a minute?” Matt suggests groggily.

“Yeah,” Shiro says, burying his face in his boyfriend’s neck, “In a minute.”


	6. We'll Walk From This Dark Room

“So do we just, um…” Shiro glances around apprehensively and takes another sip of his water, “I dunno.”

“You okay?” Matt tilts his head.

“Yeah,” Shiro takes a shaky breath, “Yeah, I just…”

“You still wanna do this?” Matt checks, reaching out a hand to caress his boyfriend’s cheek.

Shiro nods, pressing his face against Matt’s hand, “Yeah. I do. I’m just…”

“Anxious?”

“Yeah…”

“Hey,” Matt sits up on his knees to give Shiro’s temple a quick kiss, “It’s okay. It’s weird and embarrassing and, uh…” intimate? Matt takes a deep breath, “…really personal. I was anxious, too. It’s okay. And… you don’t have to do it if you’re not comfy.”

“No, I…” Shiro frowns, “Um…”

“What d’you need, Kashi?”

Shiro hesitates. Swallows. Averts his eyes. “I wanna do this, but I’m not sure… I don’t think… I dunno how to explain this.”

“Give me the word soup version,” Matt encourages, “Then we can piece it together.”

“Okay” Shiro nods, “Uh. Not sure I want… sex? I mean. I know it’s… the thing we’re doing is kind of sexual? That’s not the problem. I want… that. But I don’t want… I dunno.”

“You want it to be implicitly sexual,” Matt says, “Instead of like… sex-sex. Right?”

“I… yeah,” Shiro nods, relief showing on his face, “Yeah, exactly.”

“Don’t worry. I got you, Kashi,” Matt runs the palm of his hand down his partner’s shirtless back, feeling the tension melt out of his muscles.

“Okay,” Shiro breathes out slowly, “Thanks.”

Matt kisses his shoulder, “I’m here to make you feel good, not uncomfy.”

Shiro gives his boyfriend’s head an appreciative nuzzle.

“Drink your water,” Matt prods at the half-full water bottle in Shiro’s hands, “and lemme know when you need to pee.”

“Okay, okay,” Shiro snuggles up against Matt’s side, taking another swig of his water.

Matt runs his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair while he finishes drinking. Once he’s done, Matt gives his cheek a soft kiss, “How you doin’?”

Shiro thinks for a second, then, “Mm, not quite ready yet?”

“Okay,” Matt nods and rests his chin on his partner’s shoulder. They sit in intimate silence for a few minutes, Shiro fidgeting with his now-empty water bottle while Matt lazily strokes his hair.

“God. This is so weird,” Shiro muses out of the blue.

Matt chuckles, “I mean… yeah. It’s a little weird.”

“Right? It’s… how did we both manage to emerge from…” Shiro gestures vaguely, “everything that happened? With the same weird…”

“Kink?” Matt supplies cautiously.

Shiro frowns, “I _guess_. I dunno. I mean… it’s obviously trauma-related. This wasn’t… a _thing_ for me before. I don’t think it was a thing for you before, either. And I hate thinking they had that kind of power over us. But also, I…” his cheeks flush, “I like this? I think? It doesn’t _feel_ like a bad thing. And we’re not hurting anyone, right?”

“We’re not,” Matt assures him, “No one was harmed in the making of this, uh… whatever it is we’re doing, here.”

“So… I dunno,” Shiro concludes with a shrug, “I dunno what to call it. I dunno how to feel about it.”

An involuntary grin spreads across Matt’s face.

Shiro quirks an eyebrow, “You’re about to say something incredibly embarrassing, aren’t you?”

“ _Pee_ -TSD!” Matt announces before dissolving into hysterical giggling.

“Matt!” Shiro lets out a bark of laughter, “Why are you _like_ this?”

“Because I’m a genius?” Matt cackles.

“The worst kind of genius!” Shiro retorts, his whole body quaking with laughter, “Wow, okay. _Now_ I need to pee.”

Matt does his best to catch his breath, smile still plastered across his face, “Okay. Um, undies on or off?”

“Um,” Shiro thinks for a second, “Off?”

“Alrighty,” Matt nods, “Can you take those off and kneel for me, please?”

It’s a simple request, but it leaves them both blushing as Shiro fumbles to do as he’s told. Once he’s situated, Matt slides in behind him and wraps his arms around his torso.

“ _Perfect_ ,” Matt coos, tracing his fingers down Shiro’s happy trail and pressing his other hand against his chest. He can feel him starting to shake, so he plants a kiss to his shoulder blade and whispers, “You nervous?”

“A little,” Shiro says with a jittery laugh.

“Still wanna do this?”

Shiro nods, “Yeah.”

“Okay,” Matt strokes his thumb over his partner’s bladder, “Whenever you’re ready.”

Shiro nods again, but his shaking only increases.

Matt presses his forehead against his boyfriend’s back, using the hand on his chest to steady him, “You’re okay.”

“Uh…” Shiro’s voice quivers.

“What’s up, Takashi?”

“I, um… I can’t…”

“We can stop, Shiro. It’s okay. Really.”

Shiro shakes his head frantically, “Want to. Just… can’t.”

Oh.

_Oh_.

“You want me to, uh… help?” Matt asks tentatively.

Shiro shoots a quizzical-but-hopeful look over his shoulder.

“It uh… it involves putting my fingers inside you,” Matt elaborates sheepishly, “You okay with that?”

Shiro thinks for a moment, then nods slowly, “I think so. I, uh… can I… can I have a safeword? Just in case?” He’s still shaking, but not as hard.

“Course you can,” Matt gives him a reassuring smile, “What about, um… tomato! Those are red. And _very_ dangerous.”

Shiro snorts, “My safeword is an Attack of the Killer Tomatoes reference?”

“Sure is,” Matt grins proudly.

Shiro laughs and shakes his head, “Okay, I’ll take it. Tomato means stop.”

“Cool,” says Matt, “Okay, let’s get you in a better position for this. Can you sit on your butt and lean back against me?”

“Yeah,” Shiro nods and unfolds his legs from beneath himself before resting his back against Matt, “This good?”

“Yep! Just gotta…” Matt reaches forward to gently reposition his boyfriend’s legs, spreading them apart and bending the knees, “There. How’s that?”

Shiro nods.

“Okay,” Matt smiles. He brushes his boyfriend’s hair out of his face and smooths his palms over his quivering shoulders, “Try to relax for me, okay?”

Shiro lets his eyes fall shut and steadies his breathing. Matt can feel the tension melt out of him. Within a couple minutes, he’s no longer shaking.

“Can I touch you?” Matt asks once he’s calm.

Shiro smirks, not bothering to open his eyes, “You’re already touching me, Matt.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“Okay,” Matt kisses his cheek and slides a gentle finger inside him. He takes a moment to appreciate how wet he is. It isn’t terribly essential to what they’re doing, but… damn if he isn’t a proud of himself for making that happen.

“Enjoying yourself down there?” Shiro chuckles.

Matt flushes, “Sorry, I just… sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Shiro smiles softly, “Have fun.”

Matt relaxes and slides a second finger in, just to feel around. “ _Fuck_ ,” he whispers reverently, “You’re so wet for me, Takashi.”

Shiro responds with a contented hum.

“You ready?” Matt asks gently, feeling around for his partner’s urethra.

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Matt strokes the pad of his middle finger over the sensitive opening, causing Shiro’s breath to hitch. “This good?” he checks.

“Very good,” Shiro responds breathlessly.

“Good,” Matt grins and strokes a bit more vigorously, “Can you pee for me, Takashi?”

“ _Oh_ ,” Shiro whispers, and a moment later a spray of warm liquid flows out over Matt’s fingers, soaking into the bedsheet below.

“There we go,” Matt coos, withdrawing his dripping hand and wiping it haphazardly on the sheet, “Look at you. _Beautiful_. Thank you for letting me see that.”

Shiro lets out an elated laugh, “High praise coming from someone whose hand I just peed all over.”

“Shhh,” Matt kisses his temple, “Well-deserved praise.”

Shiro twists himself around enough to catch Matt’s lips in a sloppy kiss, running his tongue over his teeth and sucking at his bottom lip.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Matt gasps as soon as they separate, “ _Very_ well-deserved praise.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” Shiro says reverently.

Matt smiles and shrugs, “Existed.”

Shiro’s eyes gleam, “God, I love you.”

“I love you too, Takashi,” Matt kisses his forehead, then reaches for the package of Altean wet wipes on the bedside table, “Let’s get you cleaned up, huh? Then we can go snuggle in the uh… pillow and blanket pile on the floor? Unless you wanna like... remake the bed before we cuddle, but uh. Not gonna lie, I really do not wanna remake the bed before we cuddle.”

Shiro laughs, “Yeah no, screw that. Floor blankets are fine.”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” Matt says, handing Shiro a wet wipe, “Here, have a wipe that is wet.”

“Thanks,” Shiro sits up and sets to work cleaning himself off, self-consciously angling himself away from Matt as he does so.

Matt grabs a wipe for his own hands, then sets the package between them in case Shiro needs more.

“All good?” Matt asks when his boyfriend tosses a handful of wet wipes in the bedside trash can.

“Yeah,” Shiro hefts himself off the bed, grabbing a fresh pair of boxers and stepping into them before turning back to Matt, “To the blanket pile?”

“To the blanket pile!” Matt slides off the bed and follows his partner over to the disorganized pile of bedding in the corner of the room, which they both burrow into unceremoniously.

***

“Hey,” Matt whispers against Shiro’s chest several minutes later, “You awake?”

“Yeah,” Shiro responds, sleepily clutching at the back of his boyfriend’s shirt and tugging him closer.

“You, uh, earlier you said something like… you hate how much power they—uh, the Galra—had over us, right?” Matt asks, “Like, in regards to… this.”

Shiro hesitates, then nods, “Yeah?”

“D’you, uh…” Matt’s heart beats in his throat, “Did this feel like…?”

“Like something they made us do?” Shiro asks softly, “Not directly, but… you know.”

“…yeah,” Matt nods, “That.”

“Hm… nah,” Shiro kisses the top of his head, “Nah, I think this was all us. I think… I feel like we took what happened and we made it ours. If that… makes sense.”

“Yeah,” Matt relaxes into his partner’s embrace, “Yeah, I like that. We made it ours.”

“They can’t have this,” Shiro murmurs, “It’s ours.”

**Author's Note:**

> WHEW OKAY SO... I initially posted this anonymously, but I made the executive decision to post a topically similar fic off anon so might as well just? Take credit for my own darn writing? So here we are.
> 
> If you wanna say hi, my (SFW) Voltron Tumblr is [Agapostemon](https://agapostemon.tumblr.com/). But I also have a sparsely-used [NSFW/kink blog](https://buitre-de-pavo.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Also: Please remember that I write purely for fun and catharsis. My fics are unbeta’d and minimally proofread. They’re not perfect, and that’s okay. If you notice something I could fix or improve, please keep those thoughts to yourself. If I genuinely want critique, I’ll ask a close friend in private. **Surprise critiques are very stressful and discouraging.** Thanks for understanding!


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